


Who I Need

by virmire



Series: Life is Strange One-Shots [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virmire/pseuds/virmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot inspired by this post on tumblr: "Imagine 13 year old Chloe writing, 'I want Max to come home' on her Christmas wish list" (http://teampricefield.tumblr.com/post/130003924255/imagine-13-year-old-chloe-writing-i-want-max-to)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who I Need

            A bell, in the distance, could be heard. She heard it being played a few times before slowly opening her eyes. Echoes of voices were heard as well, some laughter, some crying.  She couldn't distinguish which was which, but she put the thought aside. People were awake, small people, children. Chloe realized she was hearing children laughing and some even screaming from excitement.  She didn't know why, but her body reacted differently, her legs automatically sliding off the bed and making her get up.

            In front of her, staring at her, hung on the door, was a calendar, a big red circle encircling the 25th day of December. Then, something clicked in her head, she realized it was Christmas. However, she wasn't feeling excited, not really. Every year she'd be the first to wake up and go check her presents, but not this year, no.

            Christmas was her favorite holiday and not coincidently, it was also her father's, the holiday where he'd decorate the whole house with ornaments, get some tree and put it in the middle of the living room for it to be the center of attentions. Then he'd put the presents beneath it; hide her daughter's because he knew she'd find a way to open it before the right time. Her father, she remembered, was always the first to wake up to see his daughter open his and her mother's presents. Because of it, Chloe wasn't excited at all.

            Still standing up, she took a deep breath and decided it wouldn't make things easier if she remained in that position, especially staring at a calendar. With that, Chloe tried to open the door as silently as she could, slowly turning the knob and pushing the door open gently. She looked outside and it was still dark, only the window close to the stairs illuminating the floor. Her mother's bedroom door was still closed.

            Chloe went to the bathroom and turned the light on. The first thing she noticed was the perfume her father used to use, right beside the sink. If she concentrated enough, she could still smell it, even though all she needed to do was open the container. It wouldn't be the same, anyway.

            The young girl washed her face and brushed her hair. Her blonde long hair was still the same since she was a kid, she never thought about changing it. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wondered if change would be a good thing, to change airs, as her father would say. Putting the thought aside, she left the bathroom.

            On the wall, by the stairs, Chloe saw one particular picture. It was the last one she and her father took together, one she solemnly remembered and thought, with every possible way, to forget who took it. She knew she couldn't, could never, yet she tried anyway. It was still painful, it made her chest ache. The person who she loved the most and, at the same time, the one who never bothered to ask if she was doing all right after the accident. 

            It's been months since her father's accident, since Max's sudden departure to Seattle, and it still hurt. Both of the people who she thought living together forever with, who saw a future with, both of them left without a single remorse. Chloe didn't blame any of them, she knew all too well it wasn't their fault, but could she forgive them anyway? She was alone in this world, without her hero and her best friend.

            Gathering her strength, she went down the stairs, her steps as weakly as possible. If she was going to do what she had in mind, she didn't want her mother to witness it. The young girl wasn't ready to pour her eyes out to her mother yet; she had been strong enough to hide it. It wouldn't be on this day, her father's favorite, she'd do it.

            The first thing she noticed was that there weren't any ornaments at all around the house. Her mother didn't bother to decorate the house, Chloe understood her reasons and agreed with them, but it still didn't seem right. Her father's memory should've lived on and this alone bothered her. She wasn't in the mood for celebrations, not in the slightly, yet it still didn't seem right. 

            Chloe noticed some boxes close to the door and peeked inside them. Christmas' decorations. Her mother considered, she realized, but didn't put much thought on it, she concluded. Without thinking about it, the girl gathered some and walked around the house embellishing it. Christmas was special, so, if anything, she'd make it somewhat special in her own way.

            She walked around the house after putting some ornaments here and there and noticed there was no tree in the middle of the living room. Chloe wasn't disappointed, not really, just not used to it. She was caught off guard, something in the back of her mind making her visualize her father coming home with a big tree behind him, being pushed by ropes.

            The girl shook her head, putting the memory aside. Her chest ached one more time, her breath caught in her throat. Painful, she noticed, but necessary. She had to complete the tradition or she'd feel awful later. This was her father's day; she had to do it for him. 

            When Chloe was going to sit on the couch, she saw the stain on the carpet, the one she and Max were the responsible for when they decided drinking wine was a good idea somehow. She knew exactly what she had to do by this time. She sat down and took a sheet of paper and a pen.

            Every time she tried to write what she needed to on the paper, she couldn't. Her hand betrayed her, her mind blocking every attempt to oblige her body to obey her. Chloe had everything planned out in her mind but her own mind decided to change plans. It was almost time her mother would wake up and go straight down to see her opening up the presents, something this year wouldn't happen. She needed to write it down or she'd lose the opportunity to do it.

            Minutes passed and no word was written, she sheet of paper beneath her hands blank, the pen immobile between her fingers, never getting pressed against the paper. A lot of memories were crossing her mind in the meantime, memories she didn't want to remember, not in this moment. Memories of her and Max running around the backyard pretending to be pirates, Max chasing after Bongo, her mother cooking pancakes for her and Max or her father making horrible jokes while Max laughed and Chloe never knew if she was being sincere or polite. Memories she couldn't be remembering right now.

            "Chloe?" The young girl heard her mother call for her. Her mother spoke in a sleepy voice, probably just woken up. She still had time to write it and ask her mother for her present. Mistaken, Chloe heard her mother's footsteps right after, her heart pulsing violently against her chest. She felt suddenly hot and cold at the same time. Her hands started to shake and, to her surprise, she felt tears falling on the paper.

            Since her father's death, Chloe hasn't cried in front of people, especially her mother. She didn't feel right to do it, not to the other person who loved her father the most, his soulmate and the woman who'd spend the rest of his life with. She always felt the need to be stronger for her mother, to show her that she was all right, to not worry. Alone, she'd shed every tear she had, cry until she slept and walk to school trying not to cry.

            Chloe was not going to ruin the day for her mother, it was Christmas after all. The paper was already ruined, so she tried to put it aside but couldn't. Once again, her body betrayed her and, suddenly, her hands started moving, the pen writing what she desperately was trying to, the present she wanted the most.

            Joyce approached her daughter cautiously, her feet as light as leaves. She noticed her daughter had her back to her, she also knew Chloe didn't hear her get closer. Every Christmas, according to William's holiday tradition, in the morning, Chloe would write down the present she wanted the most, something that couldn't be bought. This day, Joyce knew she'd ask something she couldn't give.

            "I kept the tradition as dad would like." The girl whispered, almost breathing out the words as she continued to sob. She handed the watery paper to her mother and brought her hands to her face, covering it and letting all her feelings out after all these months.

            " _I want Max to come home_ " was written on the paper. Joyce wasn't expecting this, not at all, so she was taken aback. She was expecting her daughter to ask her father to come home, not her best friend. The last time she tried to talk to Chloe about Max, the girl would avoid the topic altogether saying that her friend abandoned her when she needed her the most, not even bothering to call her. Even though Joyce understood her feelings, it was still Max, her daughter's best friend and, even, soulmate.

            The mother put the paper on the table and walked around the couch, kneeled down and hugged her daughter. Chloe accepted the hug without questioning it and cried on her mother's shoulders.

            "I'm sorry, Chloe." Joyce whispered, hugging the girl tighter.

            "I want her back, mom." Chloe barked. "I need Max." She felt her daughter's hands tightly grip her shirt. "I miss her so much."

            There was nothing Joyce could do, except to keep hugging Chloe and soothing her. She'd give her daughter anything she asked, but this particular request, she thought, she couldn't. Max wasn't the one to blame, but, even though Joyce tried not to, something in her shared Chloe's sadness about this. She, too, missed Max, the brown haired girl who act awkwardly with other people and took pictures of everything if she could. The same girl who was Chloe's best friend, her soulmate, the girl who both of them didn't know if she would show up again, leaving a hole in Chloe's life, unfortunately, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This was interesting to write and, tbh, I love painful and horrible pricefield stories kjahdjkshkj sorry


End file.
